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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29105118">Russian</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account'>orphan_account</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard - Rick Riordan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, M/M, gays in the 19th century</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 11:33:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>456</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29105118</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"I assumed you know why I am here,"</p><p> </p><p>"And, why would I know?"</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Magnus Chase &amp; Alex Fierro, Magnus Chase/Alex Fierro</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Russian</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>*kisses your forehead* You're doin' amazing</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">Magnus P.O.V.</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>I sat, cigarette dangling from my lips. He was placed in front of me, beautiful yet unnerving eyes. He had short raven hair. He was of petit stature.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"I assumed you know why I am here," He said, trying to hide his face. Too late, I thought, too late to turn to back now. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"And, why would I know?" I had brought the cigarette from my lips to the ashtray. I knew why he came to me. I knew why they all came to me. 'Something's wrong,', 'Can you fix it?' and 'I have no-one else,'. None of them realized that the help comes from within. That I can only listen and advise. That I can not fix it with a flick of a switch. That half the time nothing is wrong with them.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"You are the best alienist in the tri-state area. You figure it out," He shot back, hands gripping the base of his chair. His tone lacked volume but made up for it with poison. I wondered, in a sort of silent fancy, what could have caused him to be in such a state. His eyes flicked from the door to the window, as if he were on a look-out. "I have an issue," He was so, so quiet. It was like speaking to a ghost. This time his voice contained no spite, just pure, unadulterated fear. That was no surprise to me. Most of my patients were scared. Scared of what this might do to their reputation. Scared of their family loving them no more because of this. Scared of this.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"What is it?" I prompted him; he had clamped his jaw shut for much too long. I would not be able to help him if he did not help himself. His eyes were trained on the floor.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"Tell me something about yourself," His bravery had passed; his vulnerability returned. I did not mind sharing facts about myself so I did as I was told.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"My name is Magnus Chase. I am twenty-eight years old and I work as an alienist," I replied, calmly as well as clearly. I waited, my leg placed upon my knee.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"I know that already," He rolled his eyes. "Tell me something that isn't on your business card," And, so I did.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"My mother is with God. I am a fan of British comedy. I speak fluent Russian," I stated, counting them off my fingers as I said them. I hoped this would be enough for him to open up. I was horrendously dull. My favorite color was beige, for God's sake. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"Russian," His hands were in his lap. "I speak Spanish and French," His words were louder now. "My nickname is Alex,"</p><p> </p><p> </p>
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